The Letter
by Terra7
Summary: [Lit] Now, looking at the aftermath of his little discovery, he almost wishes he hadn’t been so nosy. Almost. Oneshot from the same universe as 'The Reply'. Not necessarily a sequel.


**Title:** The Letter

**Summary: **Lit. Now, looking at the aftermath of his little discovery, he almost wishes he hadn't been so nosy. Almost. Oneshot.

**A/N: **This occurs in the same universe as 'The Reply', but I'm not sure I'd call it a sequel or anything. Written for Ava's birthday. Thanks for making this fandom welcoming and for the feedback that never fails to make my day.

_So many sheep I quit counting,  
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that I feel.  
Trying to make mole hills out of mountains,  
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal.  
**Independence Day – Ani Difranco**_

"I don't need you." Her face betrays nothing and he finds it hard to keep his gaze steady.

His response is measured; he's grasped the benefits of thinking before he lashes out at her, before he fills the waiting silence with a barb still too close to the edge of his tongue. "Ok. How is that supposed to make me feel Rory?" A pause while he shrugs off his dripping jacket. "I didn't come back here to pick up the argument where we left off."

In the next moment she is reaching for his drenched jacket and handing him a towel and he can barely hear her murmured response. "I wasn't sure you were coming back at all." Her quiet but unapologetic tone is enough for him to know that this fight isn't going to be ending any time soon and if he wants to avoid saying something he'll surely regret later, he should be heading back out their front door and into the storm. It's nothing compared to what's brewing in the tiny apartment. Instead of bolting back out, towel in hand, he brushes by her to their bedroom, quickly changes into sweats and a t-shirt and pulls a pillow from their bed. She says nothing but he can feel her eyes burning holes into the back of his neck as he moves around the room. He is in the living room laying a blanket out on the couch and turning off the lights before she speaks again. "What are you doing?"

"Going to sleep. It's 4 am. I'm tired, I'm pissed, and we're clearly not resolving this right now. You should do the same."

Her eyes hold the tiniest trace of sadness as she empties out her coffee mug and heads to the bedroom. She doesn't say good night before she shuts the door and it's then he knows he's really in trouble.

---

It didn't start as anything. She'd seemed restless for a few weeks now, complaining more about her work at the magazine than she used to. It was nothing, she told him, a crappy day at the office, a lack of sleep and caffeine. He knew better.

She knew he could read right through her excuses so she didn't bother defending them, but she didn't tell him the real reason either.

In a pointless attempt to get at least a little sleep before morning, his brain plays over the small details until they all blur together. His mind is a merry-go-round and not only is he not getting anywhere, the motion is starting to make him sick. He's embarrassed. There's no other way to describe this churning feeling in his stomach. He should have known long ago that this would happen and he hates himself for not seeing it coming.

He found the opened letter tucked amid their books, wedged between Anthem and The Age of Reason. He had known immediately that she hadn't wanted him to see it, (part intuition borne of living with her for a year and a half, part recognition of the fact that he isn't known for randomly picking up anything by political nutcases or crazy Frenchmen).

He has never really tired of prying into her personal life. No matter how close they are and how much she tells him, he always wants more. It's an unhealthy addiction. Now, looking at the aftermath of his little discovery, he almost wishes he hadn't been so nosy. Almost.

She had been offered a position at the Wall Street Journal. The whim of a column she had written one day was better than she really knew. He had submitted it to them without her knowledge (of course) and he supposes the quality of the work and their past attempts to employ her had combined to create the letter she had so carefully hidden away. The job of a lifetime with a deadline of yesterday. A deadline he knew she let pass with silence. He was angry with her for refusing to contemplate the idea, he is still angry with her now, and his anger and embarrassment do nothing to help him sleep.

---

He is just hanging up the phone when she emerges from their bedroom the next morning. As she pours a mug of the coffee he brewed, he ventures to speak. "I shouldn't have yelled. I just…"

"I know. I'm sorry. I said some things…"

"Yeah. We both did." He takes a deep breath before taking the plunge. "When you said you didn't need me…" His eyes are filled with the insecurities he only ever lets her see, but now is not the time to backtrack on her words. Not when they're true. She moves to sit awkwardly on the couch and is reminded of another argument that occurred on the same lumpy cushions, what seems so long ago now.

"I want you and I love you, but I don't need you." Her tone isn't hurtful, it's soothing, frail with honesty.

His face is serious but she catches a glimpse of something amused in his eyes. "Well two outta three ain't bad."

"Thank you Meatloaf." Her lips turn up slightly, glad that at least they're still joking on the same wavelength. "Jess, I mean it. I'm here because I want to be, not because I have to be."

He rushes to cut her off, having found the weak premise of her argument. "No, you're here because I'm here. Not because you love your job, or you love the city, or you love our crappy little apartment."

"So? Isn't that enough of a reason?"

"No."

"I don't understand why we're still having this fight. I'm not planning on leaving any time soon, so can't we just forget it and go back to the way things were?"

"No."

"You're honestly just going to sit there, responding to every question I ask with a one word answer?"

"Probably."

She lets out a frustrated huff and slumps back against the couch, her gaze towards the other side of the room blank. "And now the return of Jess: The-Monosyllabic-Wonder-of-the-Hollow." Her voice is low as she sarcastically imitates an announcer.

"Probably has three syllables."

"What?" She's obviously confused and annoyed and despite everything else going on in his head at the moment, he can't help but think it's adorable.

"The word probably, it has three syllables. You claimed I was being monosyllabic. That would require the words I use to contain one syllable, not three."

As she turns to look at him she can clearly see the mischief lurking in his expression and Rory bursts out in a fit of laughter. The whole scenario is just bizarre; from the way they're uncomfortably situated on the couch, half facing each other, half facing the wall, to the quiet hum of The Today Show chattering on in the background. "Only you would bring that up," she says through giggles.

"You would too, if you weren't so distracted by the fact that you're on the losing end of an argument."

"Who says I'm on the losing end? I like my life, I love you. Why can't that be enough to keep up the status quo?"

"Because you should love your life and me." Her eyes soften and it prompts him to continue. "You gave up an amazing job opportunity in New York to come be with me in Philly. You could be writing incredible political exposés at the Journal and instead you're writing about architecture and restaurants for a travel magazine. You shouldn't have had to give up anything. I shouldn't have let you." He pauses and she lets his comment about 'letting her' move to Philadelphia slide, knowing that he doesn't mean anything by it. He's secretly thankful for her understanding. "You wouldn't put your life on hold for Logan, you shouldn't have to for me either. What's worse is that you keep doing it! That letter-"

"-My life is not on hold, and even if some small part of it is, don't I get to be the one to decide? I didn't _want_ to sacrifice anything to be with Logan..." Her voice trails off but the words she hasn't said still hang heavy in the air. _'I would sacrifice anything to be with you.'_

"You make it out like this isn't a big deal Rory. It's a really big deal, and it's not going anywhere."

She sighs and finally turns to face him. "So what do we do? I just want things to be right again." He can see the exhaustion in her eyes. Coupled with the look of love that's almost always present, he thinks now might be the best time to break his news.

"Well step one, you let me kiss you, because it's been nearly forty hours and I don't know just how much longer I can last."

She smiles and leans in for a lingering kiss. "Good plan so far. What's step two?"

He grasps her hands, their fingers twining naturally before he answers, "You don't kill me when I tell you what I did." Her eyes narrow a little but she nods her acceptance of his request. "I called the Journal." As she opens her mouth to respond he raises their joined hands and places two fingers over her lips. "I called them to explain how we had a freak plumbing accident and had to clear out of our apartment for a week and that's why you didn't respond to their offer before the deadline."

She has to reach up to physically remove his hand before she can reply. "You lied."

"Did you expect any less of me? Of course I lied, because lying made it a lot easier to tell them that you were, in fact, _very_ interested in their offer and would call later today to set up an appointment to meet and discuss the position." She wants to be mad. She wants to be furious actually. Not only had he gone behind her back and read her mail, he had lied to the Wall Street Journal and set up a job interview without her permission. She wants to be livid. Instead she can't help but thank her lucky stars for this man in her life who would do anything to make her happy, even the borderline unethical.

"So I'm supposed to go to New York while you stay here in Philly?" She's pouting. She does this on purpose and it's another one of her tricks that he has learned to recognize even if he hasn't been able to develop an immunity.

"Truncheon is doing well; it could handle an expansion. New York seems kind of like an ideal place… Don't you think?" Her brilliant smile and the tears that are glassy in her eyes are the only answer he needs. "I'm not trying to tell you where to work or what to do Rory. Just saying, you could do more." His (their) words echo in her ears and she realizes just why this has upset him so much. "I want you to have that option."

"Thank you." The words are nearly silent, mumbled against his lips as she descends on his mouth. "Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou…" She's saying them like a mantra between kisses until his teeth pull at her bottom lip and she is unable to think, let alone speak. They manage to pull themselves off the couch without losing contact and as they stumble toward their bedroom, she reaches out blindly. The crash of a picture frame falling to the ground is enough to part them momentarily and she uses the opportunity to rescue the frame and grab the cordless phone.

"What are you doing crazy woman?" His hair is a mess and he looks thoroughly disoriented. She loves that she caused that look, and as she drags him into their room she presses redial.

"I have an important call to make."


End file.
